


Fish Lips and A Bad Jaw

by thanku4urlove



Category: Arashi (Band), Johnny's Entertainment
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fashion & Models, First Meetings, M/M, Meet-Cute, Originally Posted on LiveJournal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-29
Updated: 2019-09-29
Packaged: 2020-11-07 18:44:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20822054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thanku4urlove/pseuds/thanku4urlove
Summary: It's Aiba Masaki's first ever photoshoot. He's nervous, and the painfully handsome and experienced model next to him--that's gradually losing patience with his incompetence--really isn't helping.





	Fish Lips and A Bad Jaw

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a friend's birthday in 2017! This is my first (and only) attempt at writing Arashi, so the characterization might be wack. I tried.

“Okay seriously, where are you?”

“I’m almost there, I promise.” Aiba insisted, speeding his walk up to a jog. “I’m about to walk inside.”

“Good, because I’m standing by the door looking like an idiot.”

Aiba laughed a little, and after getting confirmation for the room number where the photoshoot was taking place--suite 312--and promising again to hurry he hung up, slipping his phone back in his pocket. Nerves twisted in his stomach as he entered the elevator, pressing the button for the third floor.

Today was his first photoshoot. His first photoshoot ever, and while Sho--the talent scout and now manager that had gotten him into this mess--had told him multiple times that it was a small, no-pressure, low stakes deal for jeans or something, not worrying about it was proving easier said than done. He’d been scouted a month or so back, and while modeling was a left-field proposition that he’d never really thought of before, he needed the money. So, a few signed contracts later and here he was, with his company ready to see if his freshly-picked-from-the-streets self had any modeling skills. Aiba himself was feeling rather doubtful about the whole thing, but he tried his best to shake off his insecurities as the elevator dinged, the doors opening for him to step off.

The door to 312 was wide open for him when he got there, the apartment more dressed up than he was. It was incredibly bright inside, the blinds pulled back from the windows and multiple light boxes set up, all directed to the daybed in the middle of the room, complete with an inoffensive white bedspread and an offensive amount of pillows. Aiba stepped in carefully, having to make an effort not to trip over any wires as he entered. He craned his neck, scouring the set for Sho, stopped in his tracks quite quickly by a man that was a bit on the shorter side, a tablet in his hands. The man was too close for comfort but didn’t seem to notice, not even looking up from his device when he spoke, his voice flatly unenthusiastic.

“Are you supposed to be here?”

In all honesty, Aiba wasn’t sure. This set, with its glittery glass chandelier, looked too glamorous to be the beginner-level set Sho had described to him. Speaking of which, Aiba had yet to see his manager anywhere. But, he reminded himself; he was here to make an impression. He didn’t want to seem incompetent or unsure.

“Yes.” He answered, wincing at how painfully uncertain the word ended up being. If the man noticed he didn’t let on, making a noncommittal noise and pointing vaguely behind him.

“You’re late. Get to makeup.”

“Okay.”

The man turned tail and walked off, eyes still glued to his tablet. Aiba peered over his shoulder, expecting some official looking emails on the screen. He was met instead with what had to be a sort of color-matching puzzle game. He just blinked for a moment then turned, walking in the direction that he hoped was makeup. He sent a quick _I’m here, where r u?_ text to Sho before entering, stopping short and feeling weak-kneed as soon as he walked inside.

The room was small, two folding chairs set up in front of a table with mirrors, countless makeup and hair products strewn about. There were a few people bustling around, and two separate racks of clothes. The room was about what he expected, nothing remarkable; the room wasn’t what stopped him dead in his tracks. It was the man sitting in the second folding chair.

Aiba could safely say he’d never seen anyone that looked quite like this man in his life. He looked relaxed but reserved, his eyes closed as the stylist behind him fussed around his head with an iron. His hair was dark, curled and parted and flippy at the ends, somehow both classy and disheveled in a lovely, intimate way. He had on just a hint of eye makeup, a shine on his full lips, Aiba’s eyes catching on a beauty mark on the left side of his face.

As though able to feel the stare, the man--doubtlessly a model, though Aiba was completely unaware he’d be working with anyone today--opened his eyes, meeting his gaze in the mirror. Aiba instantly felt out of his element, though he was doing nothing more than standing there. He opened his mouth, feeling that he had to say something, anything, but a woman grabbed his arm, tugging him into the other chair and forcing his head to face the mirror so she could get to work. By the time Aiba was able to look over, the man’s eyes were closed again.

The eye makeup had Aiba closing his own eyes, trying not to twitch, and by the time his face was done the chair next to him was empty, along with clothes from one of the racks. His hair was left down for the most part, and when the stylist drew away he examined himself in the mirror. He didn’t look too different, truth be told, just a bit airbrushed. Annoyance all over her face and grumbling something just loud enough for him to hear about being pressed for time, one of the staff members shoved an outfit into his hands and told him to change.

Finally all done up, Aiba walked out onto the set again. This shoot was a commercial for expensive coats, not dollar store jeans, and Aiba wanted to press Sho for answers about the whole thing. He couldn’t, though; Sho was still missing and there wasn’t a thing he could do about it, walking past the lights and cameras to get to the daybed. The handsome man was already on it, lounging lazily and stretching out his legs, so Aiba took a seat, letting the staff position his arms. He felt painfully awkward and completely unaware of what to do, resolving to simply stare at the camera and try his best.

The man that had talked to him with he first walked in was watching them both, standing next to the photographer and occasionally murmuring a few things to him. The photographer himself was an incredibly tan man of few words, the tablet man instead telling them when to change positions or where to look.

“Jun, sit forward. Replacement, stop looking like an idiot.”

Replacement? Aiba couldn’t help his frown, and the man next to him that Aiba guessed was Jun spared him a glance for the first time. It was disheartening, the mildly irritated expression he was wearing, as though Aiba was wasting his time simply by existing next to him. He was criticized by the tablet man every time he changed positions, constantly nagged at to make his hands look more natural, or to do something different with his face. It was exhausting, and while part of Aiba wanted to shrivel up and die, most of him wanted to tear apart his contract and move to an underground bunker or something, with the disdainful way the obviously more seasoned model Jun was now looking at him. He needed Sho, and he needed an explanation now.

As though on cue, Aiba’s phone began to ring. Embarrassment caught in his throat and even the cameraman, who had been rather patient with him and his complete lack of knowledge thus far, let out a sigh.

“Answer it.” He said. “Nothing is really working, so let’s all take a break and come back in a few minutes.”

Aiba bowed to him, his hand clasped over his lit phone screen as he rushed from the room. Sure enough, it was Sho calling, Aiba answering in an angry hiss.

“How could you do this to me?”

“I could ask you the same thing!” Sho responded, catching Aiba off guard. “Where the hell are you?”

“What?” Aiba pointed to the hotel room behind him, though he knew full well Sho couldn’t see him. “I’m at the photoshoot. Where on earth did you go?”

“I’m at the photoshoot.” Sho insisted. “I’m standing outside the room, waiting, because I’m tired of the people in there asking me questions. So I’m just standing here. This is the most awkwardly I’ve ever held a clipboard in my entire life.”

Aiba frowned, spinning on his heel to look around him. Sho was nowhere in sight, and while he was more or less positive he was at suite 312, he figured he would ask anyway.

“You said suite 312, right? In the north building?”

There was silence on the other line for a long moment, then Sho let out a sigh.

“What?” Aiba asked, fear settling like a rock in his stomach. “What is it?”

“It’s not you, I…” He went quiet again. “I didn’t realize there was a north and south section of this hotel with the same room numbers. Your shoot is on the south side.”

“...oh.” They sat together in silence for a moment, Aiba finding himself stuck with a dilemma. “Well, what am I supposed to do now? I can’t just leave in the middle of a photoshoot.”

“You’re actually in a shoot?” Sho gasped, sounding slightly panicked. “Who are you letting take pictures of you? Aiba, please tell me you have all of your clothes on.”

“I have clothes on, but they’re not mine.” Aiba said, plucking at his overpriced winter coat. “I don’t know, the photographer is some really tan guy, and there’s a guy with a tablet… The other model is really…” He trailed off, too embarrassed to say much more, but thankfully he didn’t need to. Sho let out a long groan.  
“Not again.”

“Again?” Aiba echoed, but Sho had hung up on him. He stood there, just holding his phone, completely unsure of what to do. Thankfully, it didn’t take too long for Sho to call him back.

“What’s going on?” He asked. “You just hung up on--”

“I just checked, and I know what’s going on. You’re at Matsumoto Jun’s photoshoot. Ikuta Toma is supposed to be there with him, but I’m guessing he’s not?”

Aiba didn’t have the faintest idea who belonged to the names Sho was throwing out, but Jun was the only model there.

“No, it’s just us.”

“They think you’re there as his replacement. Listen, Matsumoto Jun is kind of a big deal; he's been in magazines since he was six. Just… Just finish the shoot, and pray Toma doesn’t show up. Jun’s manager will have my ass if he finds out I’ve messed with a shoot of his again. Even if it was just an accident this time.”

“But I have no idea what I’m doing!”

“Just pose. High end magazines love the weird, artsy stuff.”

High end? Aiba swallowed.

“What about the shoot I’m supposed to be at? The one where you are?”

“I’ll handle it.”

Without a parting phrase, Sho hung up again. Aiba’s confusion may have lessened by the phone call but now his nerves were spiking, looking down at the coat he had on, realizing with a sick lurch that the fabric probably cost more than his apartment did.

He wanted to just give in and go home, but he had a shoot to finish, figuring he could flail around in front of the camera for at least another hour before hot model Jun would kick him out and he could leave. He started back to the door, stilling when he heard hushed voices. Jun and the tablet man that Aiba could only assume was Jun’s manager were talking.

“I didn’t even want to work today.” Jun was complaining, watching as the staff re-fluffed all of the pillows. “I only agreed to this because you said it would be quick. I’m not even a huge fan of Ohno Satoshi’s work, if I’m being honest. It’s you, Nino, that likes it so much. Actually, no,” He said when the man he called Nino went to open his mouth, pointing an accusatory finger in his direction, “it’s his parents’ work that you’re a fan of.”

Tablet man Nino laughed a little.

“Don’t even try and tell me that Ohno Satoshi, artist extraordinaire, doesn’t have a great ass.” When Jun just snorted and rolled his eyes, Nino continued in a more serious tone. “Besides, it was supposed to be quick. You and Toma work well together, and it’s just a couple of coats. I wasn’t counting on them sending this guy in.”

Jun let out a long, exasperated sigh, and Aiba let his gaze fall to his feet.

“I know, it’s like he’s never even stood in front of a camera before. I don’t know what he thinks he’s doing.”

“We’d better get it over with then.” Nino rubbed Jun on the shoulder, just getting a glance in response. “I’ll go say we’ll start back up soon.”

Jun nodded, crossing his arms and leaning against the wall behind him. Aiba didn’t know how to enter the room without showing that he’d overheard, so he went against everything Sho had just told him. It was time to come clean.

“I look like I’ve never stood in front of a camera before because… I haven’t.” He confessed, Jun jumping at his suddenly announced presence. “I don’t know what I’m doing.”

Jun looked him up and down.

“...seriously?” He finally asked. Aiba opened his mouth to explain, shut down instantly by Jun’s next sentence. “You’re not a model?”

“You thought I was?” Aiba couldn’t help but ask back.

“You look the part.”

Aiba couldn’t meet Jun’s eyes.

“W-well, it’s not that I’m not a model, it’s just… I’ve never done something like this before, not really. This isn’t my photoshoot.”

That had Jun’s eyebrows shooting up his forehead, Aiba trying desperately to gauge his reaction.

“Well it isn’t going to be, with an attitude like that.”

Aiba could tell instantly with Jun didn’t know what he meant. It wasn’t entirely a lack in confidence that had him so held back, but he supposed that Jun couldn’t reasonably come to the conclusion that a person sent to be in a photoshoot with someone like himself didn’t at least have some prior experience.

“No, I’m serious. I’m not supposed to be here; I’ve never done this before.”

That had Jun falling quiet, looking over him for a long time.

“Just because you’re here as a replacement doesn’t mean you’re not supposed to be here.” He said, but before Aiba could protest Jun had reached down and grabbed him by the wrist, pulling him back on set. He was dragged in front of the camera, people hurrying to their equipment when they noticed their return so the shoot could continue.

Jun positioned his body, putting him a bit right of the camera, bushing a bit of hair from his face and looking into his eyes. A large deal of the staff were looking at them questioningly, and while Aiba was feeling abashed by all of the contact, Jun didn’t seem to mind.

“You’re going to take some solo shots.” Jun told him. Aiba spluttered protests immediately.

“B-but it’s supposed to be--”

“You’re uncomfortable here, and I’m guessing at least part of it is me.” He was right, but Aiba didn’t want to tell him so. “So you’re just going to do what I tell you.”

“...okay.”

Jun jumped out of the shot, turning to his manager.

“Say something funny.” He prompted, but his request was too sudden and stupid to get him anything more than a strange glance in response. He let out an exaggerated sigh at how completely unhelpful the look was, and while nothing funny had truly happened, Jun’s change in personality had Aiba laughing anyway.

“Well?” Jun asked after a minute, turning to the photographer. “Did you get the picture?’

“...what?” The man asked back. Jun pointed at Aiba.

“The picture. Of him smiling? Are we here to do a photoshoot or not?”

The photographer--Ohno Satoshi, if Aiba was remembering--had a completely deadpan expression as he moved slightly to stand back behind his camera. Jun squinted his eyes and curled his lip, shaking his head a bit, but the annoyance was exaggerated and Aiba couldn’t help but smile back, feeling a strange mix of embarrassment and amusement.

Jun coached him for a little while behind the scenes, partially giving him actual modeling tips--using his body to create space, following the line of his nose with his eyes, reminding him that he was trying to sell the coat--and partially just making faces and saying things that would get a genuine reaction.

“Okay.” He said, when Aiba felt like he’d been standing there forever. “You’re not acting as though you’re afraid I’m going to slap you anymore. Bed.”

He pointed to the daybed in the background and it took Aiba a second to realize what he was trying to say, turning his back and willing his face to go back to a neutral color before the cameras were back on them.

Jun lounged across the bed again, but this time he beckoned Aiba closer.

“Lean against the frame. Try to look rich, and as though you’re always slightly displeased.”

“So… Try to look like you?”

The jab was obviously unexpected, and Jun looked at him for a long moment, Aiba’s insides twisting for a terrifying few seconds, afraid he had crossed a line. Then Jun burst out laughing, leaning his head against Aiba’s shoulder, a loud shutter click sounding from the front of the set.

“Yeah.” Jun answered when he’d recovered his breath, smiling in Aiba’s direction. It took all Aiba had not to look as starstruck as he felt. “Look like me. I want to see an impression.”

It was all or nothing, Aiba supposed, splaying himself out over the bed to a nearly violent degree and giving the camera an overly melodramatic look. The entire room laughed--Jun included, thankfully--the shutter snap telling him the moment was immortalized. He wondered if he could somehow get a copy to show Sho.

“How was that?” Aiba asked him, relaxing his arms and legs, realizing that now they were just nestled up on the bed together, limbs everywhere. “Accurate?”

“I’d say so.”

Aiba was suddenly aware of Jun’s hand, having rested on his bicep somewhere during the laughter. Jun caught him looking at it, but didn’t move away. The moment was broken by the staff, scurrying over to fix the pillows and the bedsheet beneath them.

The shoot regained its professionalism after that, but it was infinitely more comfortable, and as a result, everything came easier. Aiba was still nervous, sure, his shoulders starting to ache as he became increasingly hotter under each new coat he was put in, but the pictures were coming out better and better according to the staff, so he supposed it was all worth it. If Jun was equally uncomfortable he did an amazing job of not showing it, each new outfit they put him in looking as though it had been tailor made to his convenience. Then again, he’d looked as though he owned the room as soon as he stepped into it, Aiba reasoned, so this was nothing new.

His phone buzzed shortly after Ohno Satoshi declared them done, Aiba suddenly remembering Sho and the predicament he’d left his manager in. It had been a few hours, figuring he should give him a call.

“Hey, so… I just wrapped up the shoot here.”

“You actually did it?” Sho sounded impressed, and Aiba tried not to feel offended. “Nice job. That’s really good for you, actually; appearing in something with Matsumoto Jun is going to help you out a lot. You’ll look great.”

“Me?” Sho had that backwards. “I’m going to look like an amateur.”

“Nah. He’s got fish lips and a bad jaw.”

Aiba just spluttered back, walking over to the clothing racks in the other room and shrugging the jacket off his shoulders. A staff member took it from his hands before he could hang it up.

“What happened with that other shoot, with the jeans? The one I was supposed to go to?”

“I told you I would take care of it.” Sho said, and Aiba was about to ask the question again, wanting to know what Sho really meant. Then it dawned on him, and he gasped.

“You didn’t.”

“What can I say? They loved my ass. But I am not the model in this operation. You are. And this is never happening again; you and I are going to every location together from now on. This was a disaster.”

Jun caught his eye in the doorway. He was wearing simple jeans and a white shirt, his hair tamed down a bit and his face bare. He beamed, waving a goodbye before slipping out the door. Aiba sat down in his folding chair, a warm glow in his chest when he noticed a small slip of paper next to his wallet, a phone number written on it in unfamiliar handwriting.

“I don’t know.” He picked the paper up, reading over the digits before glancing over to the now-empty doorway. “It wasn’t that bad.”


End file.
